By Force
by Ellie Austin
Summary: Mr Darling is not pleased to discover Peter Pan has returned to kidnapp his children again. This time he takes matters into his own hands.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All characters, even those based on real people, are entirely fictional. The original characters / settings of _Peter Pan_ are the creation of J. M. Barrie.

Chapter 1

No light emanated from the silent room. The star dust bounced off the glass of the closed window, and reflected back the outside world, so that nothing of the nursery could be seen.

Peter caught sight of his own reflection as he hovered before the house. Floating closer, his nose touched the cool glass, and he shielded his eyes with his hand as his breath fogged. There was no movement, but he could just distinguish the shapes; a wardrobe, a table, a bed, the subtle, still lump of its sleeper. Wendy.

The nightlights had blown themselves out, but the nursery door was ajar, and a crack of light seeped in. Peter stayed until he was sure it was safe, then gently rapped at the window.

Wendy's eyes crept open, foggy and blind. When she had adjusted to the dim room, she quickly remembered what had woken her. She sat up suddenly, awake now, and shot to the window. There she beheld her dearest, most-missed friend; Peter Pan. He shot her a sly grin through the glass, and waited patiently while she fumbled with the lock.

The night poured in and brought the boy with it. Wendy locked him in a hug that he did not resist, and beamed at him, teary-eyed and ecstatic.

"Peter. Why have you been so long? How are you?" Peter continued to gaze at her for some moments before giving his answers.

"Hello Wendy. I'm sorry... but I didn't know I was that long. How long was I?" His face fell into a strong expression of difficult thought, as he pondered his own question.

"Far too long!" and she embraced him again.

Nana's furious bark reverberated through the house. Peter and Wendy jumped apart, and stared at one another, shocked. The sound of barking was immediately replaced with the din of heavy footfalls bounding up the stairs.

Instead of employing the sensible option and flying out the window, Peter dived under the bed, reluctant to leave Wendy so soon. The girl came to her senses and clambered under her bedclothes just as the nursery door burst open, and Mr Darling raced into the room.

Heading straight for the window, George gasped as he saw it gaping wide. He ran to the ledge, leaning out as far as he could, and shouted for his wife.

"Mary!" Mrs Darling entered almost immediately, having been rushing to catch up with her husband since he had bolted from her side.

In a moment she had surveyed the room; George precarious on the window ledge, her three children nestled sweetly in their beds...

"What is it, George? What's wrong?" Mary was somewhat taken aback to see the panic and fear in her husband's eyes. He was out of breath, his chest heaving, and as he turned to her, his eyes darted about the nursery, and he too noticed the little dears, all fast asleep.

Michael wriggled and rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he was pulled from his dreams. John too felt reality return to him, and both boys sat up in bed, blinking at the sight of their parents.

"What's the matter?" slurred Michael. His mother gently rushed to him and sat before him on his bed.

"Nothing, angel. I'm sorry we woke you. Go back to sleep." And she planted a soft kiss on the child's forehead as he sank back into the sheets.

Wendy, a poor liar, feigned a yawn and pulled her heavy body up in bed. "Mother. Father. Is anything the matter?" she cooed, with a look of innocent bewilderment.

"No, darling. Nana just thought she heard a noise, and we came to check on you... Did you hear a noise?"

"A noise? Why, no! Poor Nana... it must be her age." Wendy answered, all too excitedly. But to her relief, her parents seemed satisfied, and headed for the nursery door.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Peter watched soberly as the feet of the grownups crossed the floor on either side of him. He felt constricted in the confined space, and suppressed the urge to move and find a more comfortable position.

A pang of horror stabbed at him as he heard the window close, the sound punctuated with the click of the lock sliding into place.

Peter flew up, forgetting where he was for a split-second; but that was all it took, and he stifled a cry as his head connected solidly with Wendy's bed.

Wendy almost shrieked as she heard the bump, her eyes widening in concern. To her dismay, the noise had not escaped the ears of her parents, and in a pathetic attempt to conceal her friend's presence, she sneezed.

His attention drawn towards his daughter, his eye caught another movement... from under the bed. A foot was just visible, and George Darling leapt at it.

Sudden panic consumed Peter as he felt the angry grasp around his ankle. Throwing caution to the wind, he kicked blindly, screaming from shock.

Mr Darling was resolute, and would not let go of the wriggling leg. In a passionate effort, he tugged the boy from his hiding-place, ignoring the kicks, hits, and hisses, and dragged him to his feet.

Man and boy stared at each other for a moment. Peter broke the gaze first, bolting for the window. He froze in horror when he saw the way was barred, the window closed. Mr Darling was already upon him, and in a fit of range, grabbed the boy roughly by his matted hair. Peter screamed in pain, and Mrs Darling's heart broke.

Wendy, John, and Michael joined their mother as she ran to Peter's aid, placing a firm hand on her husband's shoulder.

"George!" Her concerned tone was tainted with anger and fear. "George! What's come over you? Let go of him at once!"

Mr Darling faltered as he looked into the appalled eyes of his wife. The softening of his grip was all Peter needed; he pulled the man's hand from his head, and thrust his knee into George's stomach with all his might, before fleeing to the opposite side of the room.

Mary and her sons gasped and Wendy screamed as the blow was struck and George Darling buckled forward in agony. Grasping his throbbing gut with one arm, he shot up his head to see Peter several feet away, smiling. Fury filled him, and he raced towards the boy.

Peter was surprised by the man's speed, but inched from his grip and bolted; jumping over beds and knocking over furniture, Peter did his best to avoid the wrathful adult, even throwing books and toys when he could, but George was determined. Ignoring the shouts and pleas of his family, he continued to chase the youth about the nursery, his outrage and intent growing with every step.

Peter pulled his attention back to the window; his escape. He sped towards it, and desperately tried to pry it open. Without his consent, his distress culminated with tears that blurred his eyes, but he continued to flail, scratch, and kick at the window frame with determined desperation.

Within moments he felt the fierce hold of Mr Darling tighten painfully around his waist. He was hoisted off his feet and swung around to face the apprehensive faces of Mrs Darling and her children.

Mary stared, perplexed, at her husband. He seemed like a man possessed; never had she seen him act so violently or roughly, especially to a child.

Peter refused to be beaten, and continued to struggle, kicking and screaming, biting and scratching, anything to wriggle from the man's grasp. But George held firm, tightening his hold until Peter felt his chest heave for air, and his ribs scream in pain.

"Mary, call the police!"

"The police? George, what's come over you?"

"Just do it!" Mr Darling's eyes blazed, and even he was shocked with the harsh tone of his voice. Mary's face smoothed into a resolute gaze, and she stood her ground.

"Fine, then. I'll do it!" he spat, and carried Peter to the nursery door.

Wendy and her brothers continued to beg and cry as they followed Mr Darling along the corridor and down the stairs. Peter found his feet again, and tried in vain to pull from Mr Darling's solid grasp. His feet scraped the floor as he tried to resist, and he kept losing his footing on the stairs, falling beneath Mr Darling's heavy steps.

Mr Darling finally managed to wrestle Peter to the ground floor, and the telephone. He picked up the earpiece, and realised he had no hands free to dial the numbers. Clamping the panicked child to his side with one arm, he succeeded in dialling for the operator.

"George, you are being unreasonable! You don't even know who this boy is!" Mary stood as close to her husband as possible, forcing him to take notice of her.

Mr Darling gaped at her, disbelievingly. "What does it matter who he is? He's in my house!" George shook the infuriating child, trying to still his unending struggles, but Peter was just panicked further, and began wailing and biting at George's arm.

"Father, please!" Wendy chocked back her sobs, but could not gain control of her tears. "Father, you're hurting him!" She tugged at Mr Darling, but he took no notice.

He heard the call connect. "Be quiet, all of you!" the fray did lessen, all but Peter, ceasing to shout, and Mr Darling managed to stifle the boy's growls with a hand to his mouth.

"Yes, I'd like to report an intruder. Yes... I found a boy in my house."

"George, please." Mary gently placed a beseeching hand on his arm.

"I have him now... yes... Could you send someone as quickly as possible? Thank you. No... No, I'll be sure to keep hold of him until you arrive. Good." Silence cut through George as he replaced the receiver. The eyes of his family were all fixed on him, holding expressions of disbelief and even contempt.

Peter continued his fight for freedom, but panicked still more as he found himself thrust into a lightless cupboard, the door slamming shut, the sound of a key turning in the lock. Now free from physical restraint, Peter released all his efforts in an attempt to open the door; He thumped on it with bruising fists, and kicked at it until he felt pain shoot through his toes. And all the while he screamed at the top of his voice, shouting every insult he could conjure, until his throat stung and his voice croaked.

For Peter it seemed like an eternity, locked in the small, pitch-black room. He had just resorted to using his head to break through the door, when he once again heard the key in the lock, and all at once, harsh light stabbed at his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Although his vision was blurry, Peter fixed the dark silhouette of the figure with a deep scowl. Thinking it Mr Darling, he had bolted to the very back of the cupboard, and every muscle in his body tensed at the prospect of another battle.

But it was not Mr Darling who beheld the fierce, frightened boy backed into a corner; Detective Inspector Charles Webster was not in the habit of accompanying Officers on this sort of disturbance, but by chance he had been one of only two men available, and so was obliged to attend.

He could see that the boy (suspected thief) was agitated and still very much worked up, but he was eager to get home to his bed, considering the lateness of the hour, and so was keen to have this business completed quickly.

"Alright... out you come, lad." He opened the cupboard door a little wider, but kept his eyes fixed on the boy.

Peter faltered at the slight gesture, and the man's calm voice and authoritative air. He relaxed ever so slightly, but did not move. Webster gestured again with his head, but when this failed he decided on a more straightforward approach.

Peter screamed and tried to get the man to let go of his arm. He knew grownups were dangerous, but he had not reckoned on them all being so aggressive. He was sure he could feel his arm bruising.

Out of the cupboard and into the hallway, Peter was surprised to find himself released. He stood, poised to run, and took in the people around him; behind the man stood Wendy's father, anger still filling his face. Further still, his Lost Boys, Wendy, and Wendy's mother stood together with worried expressions. And there was another man too, dressed all in dark blue and wearing a domed helmet.

"Now, lad..." Peter's eyes returned to the man addressing him, and he scowled. "Hear you've been breaking and entering... trying to rob these good people blind, were ya? That's a bad lot, that is." Webster paused for a moment, waiting for the boy to plead his innocence. When the boy said nothing, he continued.

"You working for someone, boy? Got an accomplice? In a gang, are ya?" Webster gave an exasperated sigh at the boy's stubborn silence. Apparently he was not going to peach on whoever put him up to this.

Webster waited a few moments more for the boy to respond, then turned to the Officer standing by the front door. "Alright, Mills... Take him away."

At the sight of the man purposefully walking towards him, Peter made a dash for the stairs. But the hallway was too narrow to avoid the man, and Peter once again found himself restrained by strong hands.

"Let go of me!" He thrashed and jerked to no avail, tears escaping down his cheeks. As he was roughly manoeuvred towards the front door, Peter remembered Wendy and the boys, and looked at them with pleading eyes. "Wendy! Please! Help me! Wendy... Don't let them take me! I'm sorry! Wendy..."

And with that, Peter was pulled out of the house and into the dark street as Wendy watched, powerless.

"Mother..." she turned beseechingly to the woman, tears in both their eyes. "Please!" Mrs Darling beheld her daughter, incapable of consoling her. But her child's desperate expression moved her to action, and followed by her brood, she hurried out into the street.

Mills was having great difficulty in wrestling Peter into the back of the police carriage; Webster was watching disapprovingly, as Mr Darling stepped forward to help.

"George..." Mary's voice was firm, but contained a quiver of passion and a hint of the betrayal she felt. Mr Darling turned to his wife, leaving Mills to tackle Peter's determination. "George, this is not right. I cannot permit myself to stand idly by as you send a child to prison! You have not even given him a chance to explain himself. It is obvious that the children know him!"

"I know _exactly _who this boy is!" George's reply was so ferocious, so full of spite that Mary gasped in surprise; but she immediately regained her composure and her resolve. Mr Darling checked himself after his outburst, and continued in as calm and reasonable manner as he could muster.

"That boy is the demon who stole our children. And now he has returned to spirit them away again... but I shall not stand for it!" Mary's anger towards her husband softened as she took in his words. It had always been a happy marriage because of their perfect understanding of one another, and she understood now that George was desperately trying to protect his children.

"George... He's just a boy." She gently took his hand in hers. "And I know that if you continue in this persecution of him, you will not be able to forgive yourself." Mr Darling's gaze dropped to the floor. His shoulders slouched as he admitted defeat. "Please, George."

Composed into his upright posture once more, Mr Darling, resolute, turned on his heel and almost marched towards the Detective Inspector. "I am afraid, Inspector..." George almost chocked with embarrassment, his voice breaking slightly, "there seems to have been a misunderstanding. My wife and I would like to deal with this boy ourselves. It appears he is a friend of our own children."

Webster fixed him with a suspicious stare, but did not argue. "Well, I can't force you to press charges, sir... but I wouldn't want my kiddies mixing with a lad like that, if you don't mind my saying so, sir."

"No, nor I. But I would like to resolve the situation myself."

"Right you are, sir. Mills... get the boy out." Mills bit back the urge to argue, or faint, having just this minute finally managed to get the boy _in_! Trying to catch his breath, he flippantly opened the carriage door.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

George Darling sat rigidly in his armchair, a glass of whiskey in one hand, and snatched another glance at the grubby, retched boy sitting on the sofa. Each time Peter felt Mr Darling's gaze return to him, he made sure to lock eyes with the man; He had to be on his guard. Although Mr Darling had not touched the boy since he was brought back into the house, Peter new better than to think he was safe.

He fought back another wave of panic, feeling more and more uncomfortable, alone in the presence of the man. The Lost Boys had been shooed back to bed, and Wendy was helping her mother gather pillows and blankets for Peter.

Pan had been expecting some sort of interrogation once left alone with Mr Darling, but instead the man just sat there, silent. Peter noticed he looked more sad than angry, but this did nothing to diminish his fear.

Although he would be loathed to admit it, Peter was indeed terrified of the man; or rather, of his apparent unpredictable and irrational behaviour. Peter was, understandably, severely shaken by the ordeal of being attacked and imprisoned, and he was still disorientated. This increased his anxiety further, and now, left alone with his former attacker, Peter struggled against his feelings of distress.

"Here you are, Peter." Pan almost jumped at the sudden reappearance of Mary Darling, Wendy at her heels. They both carried pillows and thick blankets, which they presently deposited on the Drawing Room floor. "I'm sorry you have to sleep down here tonight, but there's not much room left upstairs." He acknowledged her with his eyes, but did not speak or move. Wendy bounced onto the sofa and wriggled up to Peter, and he flashed her a quick smile.

"All the Lost Boys are packed in like sardines!" He smiled again at the sound of her giggles, but kept up his guard.

"Well... if you have everything you need, Peter... I think we all ought to go to bed. Wendy, that means you, too." Wendy began to protest, but her mother took little notice.

Peter's eyes followed her anxiously as she hugged him, kissed her parents goodnight, and skipped from the room.

To Peter's immense relief, Mr Darling sprang from his chair and marched into the hall, and once she had made up the sofa, and smiled sweetly at the boy, Mrs Darling followed her husband out.

"Goodnight, Peter." She said softly from the doorway. "Sleep tight." And she gently closed the door.

Out in the hallway, Mr Darling retrieved an aged, brass key from a drawer in a side table, and pushed it into the lock of the Drawing Room door.

"George?" Mary turned back when she noticed her husband had not followed her to the stairs, an expression of confusion on her pretty face. "You're not locking him in, are you? Is that really necessary?"

Mr Darlings face remained dark, and he did not look at her. "As long as you insist on letting that boy sleep in my house, you could at least respect my responsibility to protect my family." Mrs Darling furrowed her brows, but she no longer had the strength to disagree with him and began to ascend the stairs.

Peter heard a key turn in the lock.

Like a bolt of lightning, he was on his feet and across the room to confirm what he had heard. Trying the doorknob and finding the door unyielding to his efforts, Peter's feelings of panic spilled over, and he began to hammer desperately against the unshakable oak-wood.

"Let me out! Please... Let me out! Wendy!" Peter battered against the door with all his might, but it barely even wobbled. Peter tried to scream louder, but his throat was still painful from his earlier cries for help, and his voice was already cracking.

"George, give me the key." Mr Darling was staring at his feet, like a naughty schoolboy. He could not look his wife in the eye. "George... the key!" Mr Darling reluctantly opened his hand, revealing the key, gleaming in his palm. Mary snatched it from him, rather harshly, but she had had enough of her husband's childish behaviour.

Before she could insert the key into the lock, both grownups were frozen by the sound of breaking glass that came crashing to their ears. Mrs Darling unlocked the door, and both she and her husband burst into the room.

Peter was crumpled on the floor, nursing his bloody hand; in sheer panic, he had sent his fist through the window in an effort to escape the room. Struggling to control his breath, he blinked up at Mr and Mrs Darling as they entered, his chest heaving, and on looking back down at his stinging hand, felt a surge of pain, and could not hold back the tears.

Mr Darling acted first. He went from the room and proceeded to telephone for a doctor. Mrs Darling beheld the tearful boy for one more shocked and selfish moment, and then hurried to his side, crouching down and whispering sweet words of comfort. She was careful not to touch his damaged hand, but put one arm around his shoulders, and was relieved to feel him press closer to her.

By this time, the other children, all woken once more by the smashing window, cascaded down the stairs and into the hall, just in time to see their father replace the telephone receiver. Wendy was at the front of the rabble;

"Father? What's happened? We all heard a great noise... like a window breaking." Mr Darling sighed, unpleased to have to tell his children of the boy's actions, for fear he himself would receive the blame.

"I have just telephoned for a doctor. Your friend had a little accident." He winced as he saw Wendy's eyes widen and her mouth drop. Much the same expression was repeated in the faces of her brothers.

"Peter? Is he alright?" ventured Tootles. He was a shy but loving child.

"He'll be fine. Now, back to bed, all of you." There were worried sighs and fearful glances to one another, but the boys slowly drifted upstairs and back to their beds. "Wendy... Go to bed. I will tell you what the doctor says, in the morning." The little girl stared at her father. Was it a scowl or a look of disappointment? Either way, it was what George had been fearing; That boy was turning his daughter against him.


	5. Chapter 5

Dr Leighton was a young but skilled physician; although in his thirties, he was considered a mere youth by many of the medical profession. He was renowned for his compassionate bedside-manner, and generosity towards the poorer classes. This had led him to become quite a celebrity in his field, and of course, the popular choice of high society.

He was favoured by all of the Darling's neighbours, so naturally, they favoured him too.

He arrived at number 14 as quickly as he could manage; sympathetic as he was to his fellow man, and so eager to help, he thought nothing of making a house call so late at night.

Leighton was admitted by Mr Darling, and shown into the Drawing Room, where he beheld his patient; Peter was still sitting on the floor, huddled over his bleeding hand. Mrs Darling had not left his side, and was whispering calming words in his ear. She looked up as the two men entered, and welcomed the Doctor with a brief nod and a worried smile, but she did not get up.

Dr Leighton made himself comfortable, cross-legged on the floor next to Peter. The boy did nothing to acknowledge his presence.

"Right then, young man..." Leighton began, reaching for Peter's wounded hand. As he made contact, the boy screamed and violently scrambled away. He locked eyes with the man, just then noticing he was there, and fear flooded his mind once more.

"I'm not going to hurt you..." Leighton soothed. He slowly reached for Peter's hand once again. "I just need to see what you've managed to do to yourself." Pan shot daggers at the man, highly suspicious of his intentions, but reluctantly allowed him to inspect his wound.

"Gosh, you have been in the wars, haven't you!" Peter did not understand this turn of phrase, but said nothing, watching the man's every move, poised to get away if he became a danger.

Pan hissed and kept pulling away throughout the Doctor's examination, but was lulled by the efforts of both Mrs Darling and Leighton, combined. Their labours were increased as the Doctor began the painstaking task of removing every shard of glass from the child's flesh, an ordeal that nearly sent Peter into a frenzy on its commencement.

Through all this, Mr Darling stood back by the door, and observed. He had truly been shocked and worried when he saw what the boy had done, but now his old fears were creeping back into his head, and he resolved to keep the child at a distance, from himself and his children.

Peter struggled with the stinging pain, but would not cry; instead he screamed and shouted, and even threw insults at the man who was helping him. But Peter did not care... He just wanted to go home.

"There... that's all of them." Dr Leighton continued to speak as he gently cleaned and bandaged the boy's hand. "It would be best to take him to the hospital tomorrow, just so they can keep an eye on things."

"Will he have to stay there?" Mary inquired, fearfully.

"Oh, no. I shouldn't think so." His tone changed to a more cheerful one as he regarded Peter. "And just make sure you don't punch any more windows, young man, all right? I don't want to have to see you again for some time, understand?" Peter looked at the man, but said nothing. He frowned down at his now-bandaged hand, and carried on staring at it until Dr Leighton had got up to leave.

Leighton turned to Mrs Darling, removing a pill bottle from his case. "You can give him two of these to help him sleep if it's too painful... otherwise, that's all I can do for him here."

"Thank you so much, Doctor. I truly appreciate you coming here so late, and at such short notice."

"Oh, think nothing of it. If you'd prefer, I can come back in a week to check his progress and settle the fee?"

"Yes, that would be most kind." Mary dropped a slight curtsy, and watched as George shook Leighton's hand and showed him to the door.

The Doctor gone, Mary fixed her husband with a hurt expression, and turned back to Peter. "Come along, angel... you can sleep in the nursery tonight."

"Mary, I..."

Mrs Darling cut George off with a dark scowl, one that he had never received from her before. He wanted desperately to protest, but was terrified of the ramifications. All he could do was watch as his wife helped that wicked boy climb the stairs.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

As the next day dawned, Wendy was relieved to see her Peter was still there, sleeping soundly on the bed that had been made up for him on the nursery floor. She had been convinced he would have flown back to Neverland, given the slightest opportunity, but it seemed he was too exhausted to go anywhere just then.

Crawling to his side, Wendy slipped beneath his blanket and gazed at his peaceful face.

"Wendy? Is he alright?" came the hushed voice of Michael, from where he sat on his bed.

"We should wake him up; It's time for breakfast." remarked John, getting up and moving towards Peter and Wendy's spot on the floor. Wendy glared up at him, protectively pushing herself up with her arms.

"You will do no such thing!" Her voice was stern, but whispered. "He needs to sleep. I expect his hand is hurting terribly." Cautiously, she wriggled away from him and stood. Beckoning to her brothers to follow quietly, all three left the nursery, Wendy softly closing the door behind them.

Peter's eyes briefly flickered open as he listened to them go; he could just make out the faint sound of their footfalls on the stairs as they descended through the house.

His hand throbbed uncomfortably, and he could feel the stinging return with each involuntary movement. He tried to remain perfectly still, and fall back to sleep, preferring the darkness of unconsciousness, but this was not easy with the constant pain that was difficult to ignore.

Thankfully, after thoughts of sunny days in Neverland, and adventures with the Indians and Pirates, Peter finally slipped back into his dreams.

Mary crept quietly into the room and rested her gaze on the sleeping boy. It was now mid-afternoon, and although she would prefer to let Peter sleep, she was also anxious he should be seen at the hospital, as Dr Leighton had advised.

"Peter?" She rapped gently on the door as she softly called his name. "Peter. It's time to get up." His sleeping form remained still, but his breathing seemed to shallow. She walked gracefully across the room and knelt down beside him. After a moment or two, she reached out and gently started to stroke his hair, humming soothingly beneath her breath.

Remembering himself, Peter shot up, holding up his damaged hand as a shield, warding her back. "Don't touch me!" he shouted. "I mustn't be touched!"

Mary gazed at him, a shocked expression on her face. It took her several moments to process his sudden reaction, but eventually her features calmed, and she sat back on her heels.

When Peter realised Mrs Darling had no intention of leaving, he looked up at her with a suspicious frown. "What do you want?" His tone was harsh, as he had intended it to be, but Mary's calm reaction was not what he had expected; she smiled at him, sweetly, and for a second he could see her resemblance to Wendy.

"It's time to go to the hospital." Peter's brow furrowed quizzically.

"What's a hospital?" His voice was now full of childish curiosity, but his scowl soon returned as he saw the look of surprise flicker across Mary's face.

"It's where sick and hurt people go to get better." It was the simplest explanation she could think of, but she found it hard to believe that the boy did not know the answer already. Could he be teasing her?

"The doctors and nurses there will help to heal your hand."

Mrs Darling kept a close eye on Peter as he walked by her side. They were only a few streets from the hospital, now, and it was too short a distance in the first place to warrant a taxi, but Mary was still worried the excursion might ware the child out. She needn't have feared; Peter's relief to be out-of-doors was almost overwhelming, and although he felt too fatigued to show it, his spirits were soaring!

Turning the final corner, they entered a busy street, and approached the magnificent structure that housed the hospital. Peter had never seen such a grand building up close before; the ornate pillars towered upwards, and the steep, stone stairs led dauntingly to huge double-doors. Peter felt his nerves returning, but swallowed them down, and followed Mrs Darling inside.

The main lobby was bustling with activity; nurses and doctors were rushing to and fro, and people of all varieties were seated or being lead to their treatments. The huge marble staircase dominated the room, which was filled with light from the grand chandeliers that hung from above. Peter had never seen such a room, nor so many grown-ups gathered in one place. Although it relieved him a little to see other children there too, he could not help squeezing Mary's hand a little as they approached the large desk.

"May I help you?" inquired the nurse sat behind it.

"Yes, I hope so. Our family doctor, Dr Leighton, suggested I should bring Peter in to be looked at. He cut his hand quite badly last night." Peter continued to look around, fearful of these new, unfamiliar surroundings. So many people were coming and going, he was feeling quite on-edge.

"I see." The nurse began to look through papers in front of her, through narrow spectacles. "Has he been a patient at this hospital before?"

"Well," Mrs Darling looked down at the boy at her side, but he was obviously oblivious to the conversation and not looking at her. "I don't really know. I only met him yesterday."

The nurse stared at her for a moment with disapproving eyes. "So, you are not a relation of this child?"

"No, I... He's a friend of my children."

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to contact his parents and inform them before he can be treated."

"Oh, but... Peter has told us he has no parents." The nurse now turned her disapproving gaze onto the boy. Feeling her eyes upon him, Peter fixed her with a glare which only seemed to make her own face darken.

"I see. Well, if you would fill these forms in for our records, I'll see if a doctor is free."

Sir Ronald Arton was Chief of Medicine on the children's ward, well respected in the hospital and London's medical profession. He specialised in the treatment of children, which was odd if you knew him, as he had little fondness for youngsters outside of medicine.

"Hello, young man." he said as he entered the examination room where Peter and Mrs Darling were seated. "How do you do, Madam." he added, taking Mary's hand. He was followed by another nurse, younger than the one at the front desk, who moved to the corner of the room and stood motionless, awaiting further instruction.

Seating himself behind the desk, Sir Arton continued to flick through the notes in his hand. "Your name is Peter Pan. An unusual surname..." he commenced, glancing at his patient. Peter did not like the tone of this remark. There was nothing wrong with his name. He observed the man in front of him; old, with grey hair and a thick moustache and beard, he smelt of soup and cigars. Peter disliked him instantly.

"Now, if you wouldn't mind sitting up on the examination table, we'll take a look at this hand of yours." He gestured to an uncomfortable-looking wooden table with a slightly inclined head rest that stood in the corner of the small room. Peter glanced at it, but did not move.

"Come along, sonny. We haven't got all day!" Sir Ronald was now standing next to the table, his patience waning. Mrs Darling rose in an attempt to encourage Peter to stand, but the boy folded his arms as best he could, in an act of defiance, and stared straight ahead.

Sir Arton let out a sigh of annoyance. "Mrs Darling, if the child refuses to let me examine him, I'll have to have him held down." Peter's head snapped to glare at the Doctor, his eyes daring him to try it!

"Oh, I'm sure that won't be necessary. Will it, Peter?" Peter said nothing.

"Right. That's it... I don't have time for this nonsense. Nurse, fetch two of the wardens please."

"Yes, Doctor." the young woman answered as she left the room to comply. In less than a minute she returned with two young men, both dressed in matching white uniforms.

"Now then, young man..." Sir Ronald asked, turning to Peter, "Will you lie still of your own accord, or will you be forced?" Pan eyed up the two men staring back at him, then looked to Mary. She was smiling back at him reassuringly. The boy slowly stood and turned towards the table, Sir Arton showing a slight smile of triumph.

Taking a few slow steps, Peter suddenly turned and dashed to the door, knocking past the two wardens who had both let their guard down. He threw the door open and dashed into the hall. He tried to remember which way they came, but there was little time to think as he ran full-pelt through double-doors and into a ward. A nurse screamed as he pushed her out of his way, and a man in a white coat shouted at him to stop. But he would not stop. He crashed through more double-doors and along another corridor. All the while he could hear the wardens pursuing him, and in another moment he felt a hand grab hold of his shirt and pull him back.

Peter struggled desperately against the man who caught him, his hand being knocked painfully in the fray. Although he fought to get away, the second warden soon had hold of him as well, and there was little he could do but kick out and try to bite them. Soon they had dragged him back to where Sir Arton and Mrs Darling stood waiting.

"Nurse, bring me two hundred milligrams of Lithium Bromide." The wardens pulled Peter back into the examination room and closed the door, but the boy's continued shouts of protest could still be heard.

"Yes, Doctor."

"Mrs Darling, will you kindly wait out here. We will calm Peter down and examine his injury." Mary was a little dumbfounded at Peter's passionate bid to escape, and almost speechless.

"But I... Shouldn't I sit with him? He seems so worried."

"No, it would be better if you just stay out here, out of the way. We'll be finished in no time." With that, Sir Arton re-entered the examination room himself, leaving Mary to meekly sit on a bench opposite the door.

Peter writhed and kicked as he was forced to lie down on the examining table. "No! Let me go! Get off of me!" Try as he might, he could not escape the strong grasp of the wardens, pinning him down.

"Now, young man. We've had enough of this..." The nurse had just returned carrying a tray from which Sir Arton picked up a large syringe. Peter, never having seen a syringe before, paid little attention until he saw the sharp and gleaming needle protruding from it, and being brought closer to him by that man. He recommenced his struggle, but the wardens put more of their weight on him so he could barely move at all. The pain from his hand as one of them lent down upon his wound also shocked him into stillness; just long enough for Sir Arton to jab the needle into the boy's arm and inject the sedative.

Peter's vision began to blur, and his head started to feel woozy. Then all he saw was darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Peter paced up and down in agitation. He still felt a little groggy from the drug, but at the same time, restless. He shot another scowl at the warden who had remained to guard him, standing, arms-folded, in front of the door. There was no other means of escape; the only window, situated behind the desk, was barred on the outside, like a prison.

Just then, the rattle of the door signalled the Doctor's return, and the warden stepped aside, but kept his gaze firmly fixed on Peter, obviously expecting the boy to make another break for it. Instead, Peter turned to face the door, but took a few steps back, just in case. But it was Mary Darling who entered first, followed by Sir Arton and the stony-faced, young nurse.

"Hello, Peter" she said, giving him a sweet but anxious smile. Peter's gaze dropped to the floor in anger. How could she bring him to this horrible place?! "How are you feeling?" Mary continued, at a loss of what else to say. After receiving no response, she took a seat close to the boy, so as to be more at his level. "Listen, Peter..." - the child shot her a glance to show her that he was – "I've been speaking with Dr Arton, and... he feels it would be best if you stayed here for a little while..." Peter's head snapped up to lock her with an expression of horror!

"_Stay_ here?!" Peter screeched, indignant. "No! You can't! You can't make me!"

Mary tried to sooth the child; "Only for a day or two. They just want to make sure your hand will heal properly. There's nothing to be worried about." But, to her alarm, Peter ceased protesting and instead burst into tears! "Oh, my darling..."She attempted to embrace him in a soothing hug, but he stepped away sharply, holding up his hands and still sobbing.

"Best to leave him with us now, Mrs Darling..." broke in Sir Arton, "We'll take good care of him."

Mary glanced from the doctor to the boy, wringing her hands with indecision, but finally walked out of the door.

"Nurse..." Sir Arton turned to the po-faced woman, "Two hundred milligrams of Lithium Bromide, please."

The young woman took a double-take. "Doctor?"

"Lithium Bromide, girl! Two hundred milligrams, now!"

"Yes, Doctor."


End file.
